


Blitzkrieg

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Smut, WWII AU, lesbian Delly gets a subplot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In London during the Blitz, Madge has to navigate bombs, a job with the War Office, and an insolent American named Gale Hawthorne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer: while I am a historian and know quite a bit about the blitz, I couldn’t let myself do too much research because I’m not great at drawing the line when I research. Essentially, if I started researching for this story, I would end up researching things like “how many ration coupons would it take for Madge to buy a new pair of stockings” and “what were the tube schedules like during the blitz and how often was service interrupted” and honestly, I just don’t have the time. This story overall gets about a B+ for historical accuracy.

_January, 1941._

“Miss Undersee, do you have that finished yet?”

 

Madge looked up from the communiqué she’d been working on and rubbed her temples to relieve her eyestrain.  “Almost, Colonel.  I’ll have it on your desk soon.”  She had been working for twelve hours, the letters on the paper in front of her were swimming, and she had a scant six hours to sleep in the communal dormitory before she was back on duty.  It was exhausting working for the War Office, but Madge loved it.  She bent her head down, finishing up the summary she’d been assigned.  The code-breakers had translated the communiqué into plain English, but Madge’s job was to write up summaries of the intelligence, mark German troop movements on a map and alert the officers if there was anything that seemed particularly important.  Her work completed for the evening, she headed down the hall and ducked down the short stairs to the bunker’s dorms.  The ceilings in the sleeping quarters were low—Madge had to keep her head down—and the conditions were less than ideal.  But trying to get all the way back to Bloomsbury to the boarding house she shared with Delly was impractical, at least when she was working this many shifts in a row.  So she pulled off her jumper, blouse, and skirt, ignoring the quiet whistles she could hear from the man a few beds down, and climbed under the covers.  Delly slept in the bed at her feet, but never stirred.

The next morning, she woke to the dormitory nearly empty and quickly redressed in yesterday’s clothing, readjusting her stockings and wondering just how long this pair would last.  She hurried to the canteen for a spot of breakfast before heading back to her desk, ready to tackle a new stack of communiqués.  Rumour had it that the Americans were arriving today to “assist with strategic coordination.”  In Madge’s opinion, it was about damn time.  London had been facing constant bombing for five months, and the lack of any American action made her more than a little annoyed.  If they weren’t going to join the war, the least they could do is lend a hand.

An hour or so into her shift, a rise in noise and general disruption around her indicated that the American team had, in fact arrived.  She craned her neck to get a glimpse of them across the room.  It appeared to be just four men—four men, when tens of thousands of her countrymen were dying.  Judging from their insignias they were led by a general, a short man with dark curly hair and the red nose and bleary eyes of a someone who spends his days at the bottom of a glass.   _Excellent, the best mind America can spare is a drunk_ , she thought scornfully.  A general, two colonels, and… a captain?  She squinted, trying to get a better look at the tall, dark-haired man’s shoulders and lapel.   _Yes, that’s definitely a captain_ , but she was surprised someone so low-ranked—comparatively, of course—would be sent on such an important mission.   _Most likely yet another indication of American ignorance of our situation_.  Of course, the captain would choose  _that_  moment to look in her direction, catching her half-risen off her seat and staring at him like some bloody idiot.  He grinned, his handsome face lighting up and his grey eyes dancing.   _Great.  Just great_.  She sank back into her seat and returned to work, fighting the rising blush on her cheeks.

The rest of the day passed without incident, the American men sequestered in meetings with top brass.  When her shift finished, she waited for Delly to wrap up her reports and they left the bunker for the weak light of a January afternoon in London.  They passed the dark haired captain on their way out, and while Madge could have sworn she felt his eyes on her, she didn’t mention it to Delly. With all lights banned after sundown, they had to leave work early to make it back to Mrs. Trinkett’s boarding house before the busses stopped running and they were in a hurry. 

Mrs. Trinkett was a silly, overly-fashionable woman who had lost her husband in the Great War and subsequently turned their home into a boarding house to support herself.  She limited her boarders to young women, proudly (and loudly) identifying herself as their surrogate mother and fiercely enforcing curfew.  But her home was clean and warm and her food was good, so Madge submitted to Mrs. Trinkett’s eccentricities with little more than an eye roll.

Madge hadn’t always lived in London—she’d grown up in Bristol, but moved to London four years earlier when her father earned a prestigious job in the Foreign Office.  It had been an excellent adventure, at first.  Her father’s job meant parties with ambassadors and their handsome sons, and her mother was closer to the best doctors in Britain.  When the war started Madge excitedly signed up to work at the War Office, quickly falling in love with her job.  But then the bombs started and Madge lost her mother and father in one night.  If it hadn’t been for Delly, she’s not sure what she would have done.

It was a quiet night—no bombs or air raid sirens, so they didn’t have to evacuate to the nearest tube station. The next day passed quietly as well, as Madge and Delly mended their stockings, shared tea, and chatted—well, Delly chatted, and Madge listened.  Delly could talk the ears off a brick wall, but Madge was more reserved by nature, so they were a good partnership.  They even looked somewhat alike, with their blonde hair and blue eyes; although Delly was slightly taller and a few stone heavier and Madge didn’t have Delly’s ringlets, her hair instead falling somewhere halfway between curly and straight.  Madge had lost most of her possessions in the bombing,  so Delly had offered her nearly half her closet.  Madge couldn’t accept such overwhelming generosity, but had gratefully chosen one each of a dress, skirt, and blouse, as well as a few jumpers (the bunker was frightfully cold.)  They had required some alterations to make them fit, but Delly was a dab hand at sewing and all things fashion.  All in all, Madge Undersee was very, very thankful she’d met Delly Cartwright her first day of work.

Monday morning saw Madge and Delly hurrying back to the bunker across from St. James’ Park, entering through the Treasury doors as usual.  If anyone saw them, they would assume (as Madge and Delly were required by the Official Secrets Act to say) that they were simply typists for the Treasury.  But with so many men already enlisted, the government had fallen woefully short of qualified men to work in intelligence.  It was women like Madge and Delly who stepped in, working in six day overlapping rotations, spending their nights in the tiny dormitory.  Madge and Delly usually had the same schedule—Monday through Saturday, with Sundays off—but often if another girl needed a day to go see her sweetheart or help her parents or sit with a sick child, they would swap.  Generally this effort was led by Delly, since Delly was friends with everyone and Madge was really only friends with Delly.  Madge and Delly knew they were lucky with their regular day shifts, as some girls slept while they worked and worked while they slept, but the war did not keep business hours.

It wasn’t until Wednesday that Madge had her first interaction with the American captain.  She’d seen him often enough, flirting with the other girls in Intelligence and arguing with the General in a manner far too forward for a mere captain.  She was deeply engrossed in her work when she heard a man clear his throat behind her.  “Miss?  I was told you had the most recently decrypted communiqués?”  Without looking, she handed the small stack of papers over.  But he didn’t leave, lingering over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, was there something else you needed?”  She turned her head slightly, looking up at him.

He grinned.  “Actually, I was hoping for a name.”

“Undersee.”

“No first name?”

“No.”  And with that, she turned back to her typewriter.  Working in the War Office had taught Madge very quickly that if she wanted respect, or at the very least to escape the constant teasing, she had to be harsh.  Even seeming to flirt could get you labeled as flighty, and Madge worked too hard and liked her job too much to risk it.  Other girls might not care, but Madge did.  So she wasn’t going to be on a first name basis with any man, much less an  _American_   _captain_.  The captain seemed slightly taken aback, but he didn’t linger.

Several times that day he would ask for her reports, always addressing her as Miss Undersee.  And each time, she barely acknowledged him.  The next day, he approached again, once again needing her latest summaries.  She again responded with a slight nod, and he started to walk away, but suddenly turned on his heel.  “Hawthorne.”  She looked at him, completely confused.  “My name is Gale Hawthorne.  _Captain_  Gale Hawthorne, actually.  Just in case you ever want to talk to me like I’m a person instead of furniture.”  His eyes were flashing, his face clouded with anger.  He was  _mad._   At  _her._   The  _nerve_.  He didn’t know what it was like to be a woman in this office—the whispers in the hallway, the lewd jokes in the canteen, the eyes watching as you got ready to sleep in the dormitory.  It was never ending, and the slightest crack in your façade marked you as an easy target.  And here he was, thinking she was being _rude_.  Her temper flared. 

“And as soon as your country starts pulling their own weight, I will address you as such.  But until then, be glad I’m giving you these at all.”  She shoved away from her desk and escaped down the hall, darting into a dark corner where she could catch her breath.  Her pulse was racing and her hands were shaking.  She usually kept her temper under control at work and prided herself on being able to shake off anything the men threw at her.  What was it about this infernal American that had her so upset?  True, she could have been more polite.  But that still didn’t give him the right to chastise her.  She paced the hallway until she had calmed down enough to return to work.  Back in the bullpen, she saw him look down at the papers in front of him as soon as she entered, determinedly not making eye contact.  Well, two could play at that game. 

And for the next two weeks, they didn’t speak at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to bleedtoloveher for all her help.


	2. Chapter 2

_February, 1941._

It had been an incredibly trying day.  Bombs had fallen intermittently for the past two days, and Madge’s nerves were completely shot.  To make matters worse, the Germans had switched their code and Encryption had yet to break it, meaning Madge’s workload had dropped to a trickle.  Normally she would relish such a break, but work was the only thing that kept her mind off what was happening outside.  She was almost off-shift, and she was already dreading the commute home.

 

Madge was hurrying down a hallway, hoping that Delly might have something to keep her busy for the last hour of her shift, when a door opened unexpectedly and someone stepped directly in her path. She barreled into him, lost her balance, and sat down, hard.  Above her, the person she’d collided with stumbled back a step.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t—“ Captain Hawthorne stopped, recognizing her. “Oh.  It’s you.”  And he spun around and walked away. 

Furious, she pushed herself up off the cold cement floor and stalked after him.  “That’s it?  You’re not even going to  _apologize_  for knocking me down?” she hissed.

“Actually, princess, you ran into me.  So the way I see it,  _you_  knocked  _yourself_  down.  I was just a bystander.”  His strides were long and he didn’t seem to be inclined to slow down for her.

“So because I wasn’t  _awed_  by your status as an  _American_ , you’re just going to deny me basic courtesy?” 

His response was to walk through a heavy door and let it swing shut in her face.

Screaming internally with frustration, she threw the door open and chased after him.  “Captain Hawthorne, I asked you a question _.”_

He rounded on her, his tall frame filling the entire corridor.  “Oh, so now that you want something from me I’m Captain Hawthorne?  Look, I don’t know if I did something to you, or if maybe you just think you’re better than everyone, but I don’t have the time or the inclination to apologize to some stuck-up rich girl.  So why don’t you go cry to your daddy.  If he was powerful enough to get you a job here, I’m sure he can make my life plenty miserable.”

Madge felt as if she’d been slapped and her anger drained away, replaced by that awful sadness she normally managed to ignore during the day.  Speechless, she slowly started backing away.  Captain Hawthorne seemed to realize he’d struck a nerve and some of the tension left his shoulders.  “Wait, Miss Undersee–”

But Madge was already on her way out of the small side corridor, stopping by her locker to grab her things and leave.  Delly was on shift until tomorrow, so she’d have to face the ride home alone.  She could vaguely hear Captain Hawthorne behind her, stumbling over apology after apology, but she refused to look at him as she stormed out of the bunker.  He stopped to confer with a guard as she navigated her way past the sandbags and toward her bus stop.

And because today was determined to be terrible, she arrived at her bus stop to realize it had left three minutes ago and another bus wasn’t due for an hour, at least.  She sat down on a bench, willing herself not to cry, when a very tall man in a dark olive uniform sat down next to her.  Captain Hawthorne had _followed_  her.

“First, you demand an apology.  And then when I give you one, you refuse to listen.  Miss Undersee, what the hell did I ever do to you?”  Apparently, he hadn’t followed her to apologize again.  He had followed her to yell at her some more.

 Madge squared her shoulders and looked him directly in the eye.  “First of all, just because I didn’t fall for your little routine doesn’t mean I think I’m better than you, just that I’m smarter than the girls that  _do_ fall for it.  And second of all, I can’t complain to my father about you because my father is  _dead_.”  She brought the back of her hand to her mouth as her voice broke on the last word.  She cursed herself silently, not wanting to show any weakness in front of this brute of an American. 

But he didn’t say anything.  He just stared at her, his eyes softening. “Dammit.  Oh hell, I’m not supposed to swear in front of a lady, am I?  Damn, I did it again.” He cleared his throat and tried again.  “Look, Miss Undersee, I’m really sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that about your dad; I didn’t know, but I shouldn’t have said it.  Really, I am.  My—I lost my father, too.  I was fourteen, my brothers were young, my mother was eight months pregnant, and suddenly I was the man of the house.  It…it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through.”

She couldn’t take it any more.  She knew he was being genuine, knew he was sorry, but she was too angry, too hurt to respond.  So Madge stood up and started walking down the street.  Her bus had another stop about six blocks away and she had plenty of time before the next one came.  She could walk off some of her anger on the way.  But Captain Hawthorne couldn’t take a hint and trailed after her.  They’d gone a few blocks before he spoke again.  “Miss Undersee, please.  Say something.”

She whirled around.  “So you lost your father, Captain Hawthorne.  I’m sorry, truly.  But you still have your mother and your siblings, correct?”  He nodded.  “Well, then, congratulations, because you have more than I do.  I have  _no one_ , do you understand me?   _No one_.  My mother and father were gone in one bomb blast, and meanwhile  _your_  country sits safely on the other side of the Atlantic, watching us _die._   So I’m sorry if I’m not properly grateful for your presence, because you came  _too late_.”

They were three blocks from her bus stop and four from the bunker when the sirens went off.  Ear splitting, panic-inducing wails that never failed to send her back to that awful night.  Captain Hawthorne sprang into action, grabbing her elbow and tugging her after him, his eyes scanning the sky.  But Madge dug in her heels, pulling him to a reluctant stop.

“Dammit, Miss Undersee, I know you hate me and that’s fine, but right now we have to get back, all right?  You can yell at me all you want there.”

Oh, he was simply  _infuriating_.  As if she would put her life in danger because she was too stubborn to go with him.  She shook her head.  “We’ll never make it back in time—the bunker will be on lockdown by the time we get there.  We’ll have to use a civilian shelter.”  She tilted her head toward the stream of people filing into the nearest tube station.  Captain Hawthorne followed her, jostling people around her until he was pressed against her side.

“How does this work?” he asked, scowling at an older man who elbowed Madge in the gut in his haste to get past them.

“Men to the left, women to the right, families in the center.”  She prepared to peel off from him when he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her over into a small alcove off the stairs. 

“Oh no you don’t.  You’re not going off by yourself.”

“Captain Hawthorne, I assure you, I am more than capable of handling myself in a civilian shelter.  They are perfectly safe.”  She was also desperate to get away from him before the bombs started falling, before…well, before she started falling apart.  She hadn’t been alone in a civilian shelter since her parents died.  Normally, Delly was with her, or she was in the bunker and able to work to keep her mind off things.  The last thing she wanted was to for Captain Hawthorne see her completely lose her marbles.

“I’m sure  _you’ll_  be fine, but that’s not what I’m talking about.  You’re not leaving  _me_  alone with a bunch of snooty Brits for god knows how long.”  And with that he reached under his uniform and snapped off his dog tags,  sliding a tiny ring off the chain.  “Put that on,” he ordered, and Madge was so flabbergasted that she complied.  He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and set off for the family section, flashing a fake smile at the air raid warden and gesturing to Madge.  “Newlyweds,” he announced unnecessarily, earning them nothing more than a dour glance.

They were picking their way through the crowd when the first bombs hit.  Judging from the slight rumble they were still a fair bit away, but Madge felt herself freeze.  Suddenly it was October again, and she was caught in a civilian tube shelter while her mother and father waited for her at home.  She’d been _shopping_  of all the frivolous things, and it never occurred to her that something might happen when she was gone.  The all clear whistle had blown and she’d finished her walk home, but there was no home anymore.  What the bomb hadn’t destroyed, the fire had.  There’d hardly been anything left to bury.  Every time she heard or felt a bomb hit, she wondered what it had been like for her parents.  If they’d died instantly, or if it had taken hours.  She wondered if her father had survived her mother, looking frantically through the rubble before dying in a second blast.  She wondered if her mother had lived longer, trapped in her bed, unable to reach her husband.  She wondered if they hated her for leaving them alone.

Dimly, she heard someone calling her name.  “Madge?  Madge?   _Madge!_   What’s going on?  Talk to me.”

She shook her head, her knees feeling weak and her hands trembling.  Talking was beyond her at the moment.  Captain Hawthorne wrapped his arm around her back and helped her through the mass of people.  He found a spot against the wall and lowered her down before sitting next to her.  She was shaking like a leaf, closing her eyes tightly with each subsequent bomb.  After a few minutes he gave up asking what was wrong and simply rubbed circles on her back.

It wasn’t until a long lull in the bombing that Madge found her voice again.  “Th-thank you, Captain Hawthorne.  I’m sorry for all the fuss.”

His head was resting against the platform wall, his hand still tracing slow circles on her back.  His eyes popped open.  “It’s quite all right, Miss Undersee.”

She waited for him to ask her what happened, why she reacted like that, or at least explain why he was now calling her Miss Undersee when minutes before she was sure he’d been calling her Madge, but he just closed his eyes again, his hand still stroking her back.  She shrugged it off, twisting so that she too could rest her back against the wall.  It would probably be easier if she didn’t have to look him in the eye.  Madge took a deep breath and began.  She explained about her parents, and how since she’d moved in with Delly at Mrs. Trinkett’s, they’d made a point of never leaving her alone in a shelter.  This happened every time she wasn’t at work, no matter how hard she tried to stop it.  She left out how much she hated herself for her weakness, not feeling ready to tell him that much.

He sat silently for a moment and then nudged her hand, splaying it out on her knee.  He fingered the ring he’d thrust at her not long ago, a tiny band of gold with an even tinier diamond.  “This ring was my grandmother’s,” he started.  “My grandfather died right after my father was born, but she never remarried.  She loved this ring, and when she died my father started wearing it on a chain on his neck.  He was already married to my mother, otherwise he probably would have given it to her, even though she hates diamonds.”  He chuckled at that, and then sobered again.  “When he died in a mining accident, the only way we knew it was him was this ring.  My mother gave it to me when I enlisted.  She said my father always intended me to have it, but sometimes I can’t even look at it.  It’s just another reminder that he’s gone, you know?  That he isn’t coming back.”  Madge turned her head and found herself staring into his bright grey eyes.  She nodded. 

“Captain Hawthorne—“

“Gale.”

“All right.  Gale.  I’m…I’m very sorry about how I’ve acted.  It wasn’t fair, and I’m truly, truly sorry.”

He smiled.  “It’s okay, Madge,” he said softly.  “I probably could have been a little nicer too.”

She sat up straighter, realizing something.  “Wait a minute, how do you know my name?”

“It’s not exactly information covered by the Official Secrets Act, you know,” he teased.  At her raised eyebrow, he sighed and continued.  “I asked, okay?  I asked one of the other girls, and she told me.”

Madge smiled at him, and his grin got even bigger, his white teeth gleaming in the semi-darkness.  And when the next round of bombs hit he put one arm around her back and used his other hand to cradle her cheek and pull her into his chest.  She still shook and cried, but it was a little better this way.  Safer, somehow.

The evening dragged into night, and the bombing showed no signs of stopping.  When things were quiet, Gale would pull her into conversation.  And when the walls shook and the explosions echoed through the tunnel, he pulled her close and held her until she calmed, resting his cheek on her head and whispering that it was all right, he was here, she was safe, over and over again.  When she composed herself afterwards, he never brought it up, seeming to understand she didn’t want to talk about it.

During the moments of respite, she learned about him.  He’d grown up in West Virginia, with two younger brothers and a baby sister.  They moved to Philadelphia when he was seventeen so his mother could find work.  Rory was now twenty and worked in a factory, and Vick was seventeen and “a real, honest-to-god genius.”  Baby Posy was only eight, and Madge could tell by the way he talked about her that he missed her most of all.

The next time the bombs quieted, he turned to her.  “I know you might not want to talk about it, but when you said you had no one—I thought that other blonde girl was your sister, but she isn’t, is she?”

Madge shook her head.  “Delly is just a friend.  We worked together for a year before… before.  She took me in when I had no where else to go, even though she didn’t have to.  Her family has a farm up in Yorkshire.  My Gran still lives in Bristol, though.  With my uncle.”

“Why not go live with them?  Surely they’d take you in.”

“Yes, they would.  But it’s…complicated.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “How is family complicated?  Family is family.”

Madge buried her face in her hands, not wanting to talk about it but somehow wanting him to know.  She needed him to understand, she realised, to know why she was the way she was.  “Gran is getting on, and my uncle…well, he’s not slow, but he’s not all there, either.  He can take care of himself and Gran, but he doesn’t like change and he’s not good when his routine is interrupted.  So I could go live with them, but it would be hard for him.  And Gran gets a little vague sometimes and forgets who I am.  My mother had a twin sister who died of polio when she was eleven, and I look just like my mum.  So when Gran sees me, she doesn’t always know if it’s me, or my mum, or if Aunt Maysilee somehow came back to her all grown up, and…it’s just too hard for her.  I can’t do that to her.  We have some distant cousins who live nearby and they check in on them every once and awhile, to make sure everything is all right.  So I have Delly, and I have my work, and that’s it.”  Gale seemed about to say something, but just then another bomb hit and Madge burrowed into his chest, all discussion forgotten.

Several hours later, Gale shifted slightly.  Madge sat up, realising she’d drifted off and he must be horribly uncomfortable.  She tried scooting aside a bit and unfolding her legs to give him some more room, but in the process she accidentally knocked a middle aged man in the head.  The man glared at her, his wife sleeping beside him, but one frown from Gale and he turned away.  Having been on the receiving end of Gale’s frown only hours before, she knew it was indeed a fearsome thing to behold.  Gale readjusted himself on the floor and unbuttoned his army-issued coat, shrugging it off his shoulders.  “Here,” he whispered, holding his coat in one hand, raising his other arm up and motioning for her to duck under his arm.  Madge curled onto her side and leaned against his chest, and Gale draped the coat over both of them like a blanket.  She knew this was shocking behavior, to be sleeping on a man she barely knew  _in public_ , but the adrenaline of the past few hours had worn her out and she couldn’t bring herself to care.  Gale was warm and steady, and even though she’d been ready to tear his face off with her fingernails just hours before, the thought of sleeping anywhere but his arms seemed suddenly unimaginable.

 

At six am, the air warden rang the all clear.  Madge and Gale stood up, blearily rubbing their eyes and stretching their stiff muscles.  Outside a light rain was falling, and Gale insisted not only that he see her home safely, but also that she wear his coat the whole way back.  Completely drained of energy, she couldn’t muster up an argument and quietly acquiesced.

They found Mrs. Trinkett’s house in an uproar.  Delly had left early yesterday as well, dismissed due to the slow-down in Encryption.  She’d caught the bus Madge had missed, assuming that since Madge wasn’t at her desk (she was in a hallway, yelling at Gale) she had gone home early too. When the sirens went off and Madge wasn’t back yet, both Delly and Mrs. Trinkett feared the worst.  Madge stood in the parlor, still drowning in Gale’s coat, trying to calm them down and failing miserably while Gale stood silently next to her.  No matter how often Madge insisted she was fine, both Delly and Mrs. Trinkett shouted her down, demanding that she go straight to bed with a hot water bottle and stay there.  Defeated, Madge handed the coat back to Gale, who made his good byes and set off back to his quarters in the bunker.

With Gale gone, Mrs. Trinkett bustled off to the kitchen to prepare said hot water bottle while Delly went upstairs with Madge to get her settled in.  The door to their room closed, Delly looked pointedly at Madge’s hand.  “So did I lose my mind, or are you wearing that Yank’s  _engagement ring?_   You’re lucky Effie didn’t see that first, or you’d be spending all day wedding planning.”

The ring.   Damn.  She’d forgotten about that.  “No, no, it’s nothing like that.  He, er, well, he had it on his dog tags and he didn’t want to sit by himself in the men’s section, so he made me wear it.”

“He  _made_  you wear it?  When was the last time a man made Madge Undersee do  _anything_  she didn’t want to do?  And if you sat together in the shelter, does that mean…?”  Delly trailed off, not wanting to push on what she knew was a sore spot.

Madge sank onto her small bed.  “Yes, Delly, he saw.  He saw me lose it, and he stayed.  I’m sorry, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Delly softened, chagrined at her harsh words.  When Madge had climbed into bed, Delly went and collected the hot water bottle from Mrs. Trinkett and tucked it in beside her, stroking Madge’s hair and humming until she fell asleep.

Madge spent the day in bed, allowing Delly and Mrs. Trinkett to fuss over her to their heart’s content.  She needed the time to think about Captain Hawthorne anyway.  He’d gone from absolutely infuriating to kind and tender, and that side didn’t seem to have disappeared with the light of day.  She wondered if he had a sweetheart back in the States, but then again, if he did, wouldn’t she be wearing that ring?  Still, he was awfully handsome, and soldiers weren’t known for their reliability when it came to girls.  The Captain Hawthorne she’d seen last night didn’t seem capable of two-timing, but the flirtatious rogue that had the Intelligence girls all a-flutter did.  Which personality was real?  Both?  Neither?  She resolved to find out more the next day, when she returned the ring.


	3. Chapter 3

_February, 1941_

Gale was already in the bullpen when she arrived with Delly the next morning.  He was standing in front of the map with General Abernathy, clearly debating something.  They were both clutching coffee cups—although Madge would’ve bet anything that Abernathy’s wasn’t just coffee—and Gale turned when she walked in, his face breaking into a smile that stopped her heart.  But then Abernathy glanced her way and gruffly barked, “Am I going to be needing to write to Katniss, boy?  You’d best not break her heart,” and Madge’s heart sank.  She was right.  He  _did_  have a sweetheart.  Gale’s smile crumbled and a look of shock passed over his face.  He turned to Abernathy and began arguing with him in a hushed whisper, but all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.  When she was sure he wasn’t looking, she slipped over to his desk and left the ring on a pile of papers.  She refused to look at him the rest of the day.

 

Madge could feel his eyes on her back all through dinner, but she kept her attention firmly trained on Delly, trying to pretended that the dance hall Delly had heard about from a munitions worker was the most interesting thing in the world.  It wasn’t, but she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye and let him see how hurt she really was.  He had approached her earlier in the day, but she’d gotten up and walked away from him without a second glance.  He hadn’t tried again.    _Don’t be ridiculous, he was just amusing himself,_  she scolded herself.  But she had a hard time believing it—he’d seemed so caring, so genuine, so  _open_  in the shelter.  How could he do that to her, and to whomever this Katniss girl was?  _No_ , she decided,  _Captain Hawthorne is not worth my tears._

Later that night she scurried through the hallway past the officers’ quarters, heading back to the dormitory, when she passed an open door and someone grabbed her wrist, yanking her inside.

Gale slammed the door closed behind her.  His hair was mussed in a way that made her want to reach out and straighten it, but she set her jaw.  She would  _not_  let him get under her skin.  She would  _not_  be his good-time girl while he had someone waiting for him at home.

“Madge, what the hell _?_  Aren’t you even going to give me a chance to explain myself?”

“Captain Hawthorne, I am not in the mood to hear your excuses,” she responded haughtily.

“Oh, so we’re back to Captain Hawthorne, eh?” He laughed, but it was a dry, angry sound.  “I’m sorry you think so little of me you won’t even consider the possibility that Abernathy is mistaken.  I’m sorry, princess, you’re free to go.”

“Is he?”

“Is he  _what_?”

“Is he mistaken?”

Gale gave a heavy sigh and sank onto his narrow bed.  “Yes, Madge.  He’s mistaken.”  He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it even more.

“Well, are you going to tell me who she is, or should I leave?”

She thought he’d be even angrier after her retort, but when he raised his eyes to hers he just looked…sad.

“General Abernathy is from home.  From my West Virginia home, I mean.  When I enlisted, he tapped me for his squad.  And apparently, he remembered my friendship with Katniss.”  Madge raised an eyebrow, her hands around the doorknob behind her back, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.  Gale continued.  “Katniss lost her father in the same mine accident, and we started hunting together.  We were too poor to feed our families on our own, so we relied on each other.  And when we moved to Philadelphia, I asked if she’d wait for me.”

None of this was making Madge feel any better.  “And?” she asked acidly.

“And she turned me down flat.”  He laughed bitterly.  “Said she never intended to get married, and for me not to waste my time.  I didn’t know Haymitch even knew her until this morning.”

“Oh.”  She didn’t know what else to say.  “There’s…there’s no one else?”

“No, Madge.  No one else.  And Katniss was a long time ago.”  He sounded resigned, defeated.  “But maybe next time, you could give me a chance before assuming the absolute worst of me?” 

Madge nodded, moving hesitantly away from the door and towards his bed.  She sat gingerly next to him, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.  His hair was surprisingly soft for how thick it was, she noticed.  “I’m sorry, Gale.  I’m not very good at letting people in.”  Her hand trailed down to cup his cheek, his stubble rough against her skin.  He turned his head slightly, nuzzling her palm.

“That makes two of us, princess.”

She sat there quietly, unable to move, unable to pull her hand back from his cheek, unable to loosen the fingers on her other hand from his grasp.  When had that happened?  She couldn’t remember.  Gale seemed dazed as well, his eyes darting from her lips to her eyes and back again.  Three loud  _thumps_ startled them apart.

“Hawthorne!  You’d better not be asleep yet, I need you in the map room!”  General Abernathy shouted.

Gale stood and headed for the door.  “Just wait a minute after I leave, then go when you can’t hear footsteps.”

 

Madge waited until the coast was clear before she tiptoed back to the dormitory, grateful that Delly was such a heavy sleeper.  She didn’t want to have to explain where she’d been.

***

The rest of the week was…different.  Gale kept finding excuses to come over to her desk, and while he was there he would find reasons to touch her.  Not overtly, and not in a way anyone who wasn’t paying very close attention would notice.  But when he accepted papers from her their fingers would brush, and when he bent over her shoulder to look at her notes, his hand would rest on her shoulder.  She tried to keep her face neutral each time, but hiding her smile got harder and harder.  She could tell Delly knew _something_  was happening, but there wasn’t anywhere private to chat in the bunker, so she remained in the dark.

By Friday, Madge was ready to go out of her skin.  She was feeling overwhelmed by both Gale’s presence and his distance.  So when he bent over her shoulder and whispered that tomorrow night he was going to go to that dance hall Delly had mentioned and would she like to meet him there, she could hardly contain her smile.

Delly squealed almost the entire way home.  “You’re going, right?  You have to go.  And you have to have a new dress.  Or at least a different one.  Everything you own is navy or grey, Madge, and you can’t go out dancing in  _grey_.”

Madge didn’t know what was wrong with the sensible grey dress she’d inherited from Delly, but she agreed because she knew that it was easier than resisting Delly Cartwright when she set her mind to something.

And that was how Madge found herself in an old red dress of Delly’s on Saturday night.  Delly had quickly taken it in so that it would fit Madge perfectly.  They shared the one tube of red lipstick they had left, and Madge pulled on her silk stockings that were one more tear away from the rubbish bin.  Delly convinced her to leave her hair down, hanging slightly over one eye in what Delly proclaimed was a style “practically tailor-made for Madge Undersee.” 

The hall Delly had suggested was packed.  Clouds of smoke hung over the dance floor, which was crowded with couples.  Men in uniform, women in their best dresses, dancing as if there wasn’t a war going on, as if they didn’t have a care in the world.  Madge leaned against the high top table, idling wondering at Delly’s ability to make friends—she’d met the munitions worker on the bus and now was chattering away with her at the bar.  The munitions worker—a sharp faced redhead named Flora—gave off an aura of cool sophistication Madge could never hope to match, as if she spent her evenings smoking cigarettes in an artist’s studio, talking about philosophy.

“Pretty dress.”  Madge startled, caught unawares by Gale coming up behind her.  She caught her drink just in time and fought down a blush.  He was still in his uniform, but he looked different somehow.  More relaxed.  Happier.  He grinned at her, his hand outstretched.  “Ready to dance?”

Madge had never been much of a dancer.  She learned at school, as all girls of good breeding must, but she’d always dreaded being partnered with some boy with clammy hands who inevitably stepped on her feet because he was too distracted by her chest to watch what he was doing.  But dancing with Gale was different.  He moved easily and she moved with him, not even thinking about the steps.  He flung her around when the band played a fast song, and held her close when the music was slow, pushing her hair back off her shoulder so tenderly she thought she might melt.  He smelled like tobacco and pine needles, his scent bringing back memories of his arms around her in the shelter, murmuring softly in her ear as she cried.  The memories didn’t hurt the way she thought they might.  

After several dances, Gale suggested they have another drink.  Madge agreed and grabbed a table while he navigated the bar.  Delly and Flora were nowhere in sight.  She should have known that standing by herself might attract undesirables, but she was so caught up in Gale it didn’t occur to her until a brutish blond in an RAF uniform swaggered over to her.  “Dance with me, honey,” he slurred.  _Wonderful.  He’s drunk_.  Madge went to her first line of defense, a well-cultivated response honed by 18 months of working in the War Office: she pretended he was invisible and she had temporarily gone deaf.  She glanced over her shoulder, but Gale was still at the bar, waiting on their drinks, and then looked back at her nails, hoping the blond would get the hint.  No such luck.  He grabbed her arm this time.  “I said, dance with me,” he demanded. 

“No,” she responded and twisted her arm out of his grasp just as Gale returned to the table. He inserted himself between Madge and the blond.

“She’s not interested,” Gale told him bluntly, but the blond squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest.

“You really with this  _Yank_  while good British men are dying?” he asked Madge, barely taking his eyes off Gale.

Madge put her hand on Gale’s arm.  “Gale, leave it.  Let’s just go.  He’s not worth it,” she said quietly, hoping the blond was too drunk to make out her voice over the general din.  Gale gave her a questioning look, but upon seeing her face he nodded and stepped back, turning to go.

“ _Whore.”_   Gale turned before Madge even registered what the blond had said, his fist connecting with the brute’s jaw.  Gale was half a head taller than him and sober, but the blond had friends.  Several friends, if Madge judged the scene correctly, and they were all about to launch themselves at Gale.  Gale hit the blond with another punch, sending him to the floor, just as one of the blond’s friends took off, coming up behind Gale.  Thinking quickly, Madge stuck her leg out just as the friend passed her, tripping him and shoving him into his other friends.  She grabbed Gale’s arm and pulled him back, hurrying them both out of the hall as fast as she could.  Delly—wherever she was—would have to get home on her own.  She’d understand.

Out in the alley, Gale was shaking his hand.  “Captain Hawthorne,  _what_  were you thinking?” She made her voice as bossy as possible, hoping to disguise the small tremor of fear and adrenaline running through her.

“I was thinking I was defending your honor, but it looks like you had it under control.  Thanks for the assist, by the way.”  Madge tried to look innocent, but it didn’t work.  “You tripped his friend, Madge.  I saw.  I was out numbered, which I think you knew.  So thank you for saving me from getting my ass kicked.”  He was still shaking his hand, clearly in pain.  Madge steered him to an empty pallet and forced him to sit down.

“Let me look at this, all right?  You might have broken something.”

“What, are you a nurse now too?  I’m fine, Madge.  It’s just some scraped knuckles.”

She ignored his protests and took his hand in hers, peering at it in the moonlight.  He was right, of course—she wasn’t a nurse, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what she was looking for, but she couldn’t back down now.  Besides, it gave her a chance to examine his hand closely, with its deep olive skin and long, tapered fingers.  Impulsively, she pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

The air between them changed; thickened; charged.  He looked up at her, their usual height difference momentarily minimized and reversed.  Madge found herself trapped by his eyes, unable to move and finding no desire to do so.  He tucked her hair behind her ear, softly, slowly, and then his lips were on hers.  Tentatively at first, but then he stood and took her face in his hands and it changed into something more.  He pressed against her, pinning her to the wall.  His tongue brushed against her lips and she opened them, meeting his tongue with her own.  His fingers trailed down her throat, leaving a line of fire behind.  Her hands roamed his body, one pulling his hips closer to her and another reaching up to tangle in his hair.  He nipped at her lower lip, just once, gently, and when she tilted her head back to moan his lips left hers and skimmed down her neck.  She was lost in him, desperate for more contact, and she could tell he felt the same way as his kisses became needier and rougher, more demanding.  His hand had just slid into the opening at the top of her dress, her back arching into his touch, when they heard a quiet, feminine giggle echoing down the alley.  They came back to themselves just in time to hear another woman laugh, and Gale reluctantly pulled his hand back.  He rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.  “Madge, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

She stopped him with a kiss.  “It’s fine, really.  But we should head home, or Mrs. Trinkett will have steam coming out of her ears.”

“Do you need to go find Delly?”

“No, she’ll be okay.  We’ve gotten split up before and made it back safely.”

Gale nodded, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.  The walk to Mrs. Trinkett’s was short, but she knew that without the tube or the busses running due to the blackout, he had a long, long walk ahead of him.  She pondered that aloud, but he waved off her worries.  They reached the corner of her street, but she wasn’t ready to say good bye quite yet, so she tugged him over to the space between two houses, barely wide enough for the both of them.  “Madge!” he started, clearly scandalized, but he seemed to forget his objections when she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again, as long and hard as she could.  Gale left her at the foot of the steps, her lipstick still smudged on his face.  He gave her one last, lingering kiss before turning to go, and she watched him walk away until he’d been swallowed by the darkness.  She climbed into bed just as Delly crept into the room, her hair a little windswept.  Her body humming with happiness, Madge pulled up the covers and went to sleep, wishing Mrs. Trinkett wasn’t quite so adept at her job.


	4. Chapter 4

_Spring, 1941._

The next few months were the best and worst months she’d ever had in the War Office.  Gale was everywhere, and seeing him without being able to touch him was nothing short of excruciating.  That is, until she discovered an unused filing room off a tiny side corridor, clearly intended for overflow paperwork that had yet to materialize.  Then things improved significantly, as she could pull him in there whenever she felt like she might burst if she didn’t kiss him. They spent wonderful stolen moments in the filing room, Madge perched on a desk, her legs wrapped around his hips, his hands roaming her body.  Delly figured it out two weeks in, but agreed to keep Madge’s secret and covered for her if any of the other girls noticed Madge was getting to bed later and later.

 

At first, they did little more than kiss in the file room.  Madge was worried they might get caught, and so they kept their rendezvous short.  But as the days wore on, Madge wanted more.  Kissing wasn’t enough anymore—she wanted  _him._   All of him.  So quick, stolen kisses turned into long, lingering kisses, which turned into his hands on her body, which turned into more.  The first time he nudged her drawers aside and slid a finger inside of her she moaned so loudly he had to muffle it with a kiss.  Madge was no stranger to petting—it was 1941 after all—but it had never been like  _this_.  Those hurried moments with boys in the back seats of cars paled in comparison to what it felt like to have Gale touch her, slowly teasing her to her release.  She felt compelled to touch him as well, to stroke him until he came, hot and fast in her hand.  Madge had never felt more powerful or more vulnerable. It was intoxicating.

 

Winter slowly melted into spring, and the bombings started becoming farther and farther apart. Whenever Madge’s day off coincided with Gale’s they would spend the day together.  Delly offered to pretend she was spending the day with Madge, so Mrs. Trinkett wouldn’t get suspicious (it wasn’t that Mrs. Trinkett would disapprove, it was that Madge felt that the fewer people who knew the less chance it could get out—and Mrs. Trinkett wasn’t known for her discretion).  So on those days they could manage it, Madge would meet Gale at the British Museum while Delly headed out on her own. They would walk around London, enjoying the time they could spend together out in the open.  Gale confessed that he hated working underground, that it made him think of his father, trapped in the cave-in, and Madge slipped her hand into his, squeezing tightly.  He told her that his mother’s people came from Montreal, and as a result Hazelle had made sure all her children were fluent in French from the time they could walk.  Madge had a hard time reconciling this knowledge with the plain-spoken American in front of her, but when he slipped into effortless French, she’d squealed in delight.

Madge lived for those days, but mostly her life was a blur of work in the bunker and moments in the file room with Gale until one day in early June when the news came in—the Nazis were shifting their focus to the Soviets, abandoning their bombardment of Britain.  The bunker was filled with cheers, and for once Gale could pick Madge up by the waist and spin her around without anyone looking askance.  Command brought out a few old bottles of whisky—supplemented by Abernathy’s generous stash—and the War Office employees toasted one another, wild and reckless with happiness.

The celebration continued into the night, the entire bunker in boisterous spirits.  Madge was burning for a chance to touch Gale, but she didn’t dare risk the file room—not with the way the men were chasing the women around the office, the women collapsing with giggles when they were caught.  It was too risky; someone might have the same idea they’d had.  So they contented themselves with talking unobtrusively in a corner for an hour until Gale announced he was going to bed.  Madge lingered in the bullpen, contemplating.  Her decision made, she took a quick pour of whisky and hurried towards the officer’s quarters.

Madge was in luck—the hallway was deserted, and she rounded the corner just as Gale opened the door to his room.  She darted inside before he could close it behind him.  He turned to her, but she didn’t let him speak.  Emboldened by the whisky she kissed him, kicking the door shut behind her.  She refused to let go, her kiss getting more and more out of her control.  Gale was responding in kind, nipping at her lips and skimming kisses down her throat to her collarbone, where he sucked hard enough to leave a bruise.  He had her pinned to the door, his hips pressed against her so tightly it didn’t matter that there was several layers of clothing between them.  He wanted her, and she wanted him.

Gasping for breath, Madge took his face in her hands, forcing him to make eye contact.  She needed him to understand, to know that this was her decision.  “Gale, I want to spend the night.  With you. The way things are tonight—no one will notice if I’m not in my bunk, and I don’t know when we’ll get this chance again.”

Gale watched her solemnly, his eyes searching her face for any hint of doubt and finding none.  She was sure of her decision, sure that this was not just what she wanted, but what she  _needed_.  It wasn’t like it was her first time—that had happened shortly after the war began, when she was swept up in the first months of patriotic fervor.  He was a former classmate’s brother, looking dashing in his uniform, and Madge had been feeling reckless.  It wasn’t necessarily an experience she looked back on with fondness, but she didn’t regret it either.  It simply was what it was.  But somehow, the decision felt more momentous with Gale.

Their decision made, he pulled her into his arms once more.  He walked backwards across the room until the back of his legs hit the bed and he sank down, bringing her with him and creating an all mighty _creak_  from the bedsprings.  They both froze—that was  _loud_.  Very loud.  Too loud.  People would hear.  Madge stood up, frantically searching the room for a solution, but Gale figured it out first.  He grabbed the thin mattress, lifted it off the frame, and set it down in the small space between desk and bureau.  Then her lips were on his again and he gently brought her down to the mattress, settling into the cradle of her hips.

It was so different from their stolen moments in the file room—they didn’t have to worry about anyone walking in, and neither had to get back to their desks before someone noticed they were missing.  The entire night stretched out before them.  His kisses slowed, the urgency of moments before forgotten.  They took their time undressing each other, eager to feel each other’s skin but slightly nervous at the prospect.  Her hands shook slightly as she reached to unbutton his uniform, but Gale wrapped them in his hands and pressed tiny kisses to her fingertips until the tremors stopped.  He moaned at the sight of her full-length rose-pink slip when she shed her dress, and he trailed one finger from her shoulder to the curve of her hip.  The way he stared her made her braver, so she leaned up and twisted him so he lay underneath her for a change.

He was shirtless now, and while she’d  _felt_  his muscles and skin in the darkened file room,  _seeing_  them was another matter.  A smattering of black hair covered the dark olive skin of his chest, and a matching line of hair arrowed down his belly, disappearing under his belt.  She traced her hands over him, watching his muscles contract slightly under her touch.  His skin was burning, a welcome contrast to the damp chill that constantly permeated the bunker.  Madge sat back with her knees either side of his hips and felt his need for her at her core.

The whole time she’d been admiring him, his hands hadn’t stopped moving.  He dragged them up her body to her face, holding her cheeks gently and drawing her down for another kiss before moving his hands to her thighs.  Inch by inch he pushed her slip up, over her hips, and up her torso until there was no point in wearing it anymore and she sat up and discarded it to the side of the mattress.  He sat up then and her legs curled around him, her heels digging into the small of his back.

Madge dropped her head back and he took the opportunity to burn kisses down her throat to the valley between her breasts.  He needed her assistance to unhook her brassiere, but he didn’t let her remove it.  Instead, he nudged first one strap, then the other, down her shoulders, following their path with still more kisses.  Finally he let it drop, gazing at her breasts with a sort of wonder she’d never seen before.

With a devilish grin he bent forward, sucking one nipple into his mouth.  His teeth grazed her, and she sighed.  He moved to her other breast, repeating the process, and gently rubbed his thumb across her other nipple as it pebbled.  He moved her to her back then and turned his attention to her garters.  Gale undid each tie, painfully slow, watching her reaction.  It was driving her crazy, but she knew that they might not have many other chances to simply luxuriate in one another, so she let him take his time.  Her stockings finally uncoupled, he slid them down her legs with extraordinary care.  It was her last pair of silk stockings, and he knew she probably wouldn’t be able to find more until the war was over.  So he handled them delicately—more delicately than she ever thought a man could.  The rest of her underthings followed next, and then she was bare.

Feeling slightly vulnerable, she reached for his trousers to even the score.  He helped her push them off, but before she could touch his boxers he was on her again, pressing her into the mattress and kissing her so deeply she wasn’t sure she could ever bear to stop.  Gale shifted, raising himself over her on one forearm, and brought his other hand to her center, to where she was aching for him.  His fingers slid inside her easily, and his thumb moved quickly over the place that brought her to her peak.  Like in the file room he had to stifle her cries with a kiss, but as she clenched around him he swore under his breath.

While Madge caught her breath, Gale dug through the bottom drawer of his bureau and returned with a condom.  She helped him remove his boxers and roll it on, grateful that she wouldn’t have to worry about a baby, and then she straddled him once more, holding him at her entrance and sinking down.  The feeling of him inside of her, even through the barrier, was almost too much.  She stayed motionless for a moment, savoring the way it felt, before she began moving up and down.  His hands guided her movements and his lips whispered her name, over and over again.  Waves of pleasure had just started building in her once again, coiling deep inside of her, when she felt him pulse.  Gale’s hands tightened on her hips, his fingers digging in and his muscles straining as he finished.

She had thought that afterward might be awkward, like her first time, when she’d found herself with nothing to say to the boy in the car beside her.  But she should have known that things with Gale would be different.  They lay together, Gale on his side and Madge on her stomach, her elbows propping her body up and her feet kicking in the air.  He stroked her back lightly, smiling at her so tenderly her heart almost burst.  She smiled back and he captured her lips in another kiss, his desperate happiness pouring into her.

She stayed the night, just as she’d wanted.  The mattress was narrow, but with Gale’s chest to sleep on and his arms around her she didn’t mind one bit.  He woke her gently the next morning, kissing her shoulder to bring her out of her slumber.  More than anything she wanted to stay, to spend the rest of the day in bed with him, but the war hadn’t stopped.  So she redressed and headed back to her desk, fervently hoping no one noticed that she was coming from the exact opposite direction of her bunk.


	5. Chapter 5

_December, 1941._

By December, despite the terrible news she saw daily pouring in from the Eastern Front, Madge was happy.  They had settled into an easy routine of breaks in the file room and days off spent in parks and museums.  They were getting careless, but as time wore on and no one save Delly seemed the wiser, they stopped worrying so much.  The war was still going on, but with the constant bombing a thing of the past, Madge was starting to feel hopeful about the future.  She knew it was selfish, but she was.  Her shift was almost over and she was planning to sneak into Gale’s room when the cable came in.

 

The Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor.  The base had sustained massive casualties and there was no way the US was staying out of the war now.  The office was in an uproar and all plans of a long, lazy night with Gale were gone as he stood in front of the maps with Abernathy, scrambling for information.  Gale shot her a helpless look when she was dismissed, clearly realising he was in for a long night.  Madge didn’t get a chance to see him until the next day when she snuck into the file room instead of going to the canteen for lunch.  She had barely closed the door behind her when he was on her, wrapping her in his arms and burying his face in the place where her shoulder met her neck.  “We’re in.  The US is joining the war,” he breathed.  “Abernathy doesn’t think we’ll be staying here anymore—he’s sure we’ll be reassigned to somewhere else.”  Madge couldn’t breathe, willing herself not to cry.  She clutched Gale as tightly as she could and that was how they spent their break in the file room—holding each other, each one trying not to cry.

Four days later—four terrible days, full of uncertainty—Abernathy’s squad received their new orders.  They were being reassigned to North Africa to liaise with the French, effective immediately.  They would leave in two days time.  Gale pulled Madge aside in a hallway.  “Can you get one of the other girls to cover you tomorrow night?  Abernathy agreed to give me emergency leave for one night.”  She nodded, not trusting her voice.  A quick consultation with Delly later, and the brunette who worked two desks away agreed to cover Madge’s shift if Madge would cover her Sunday shift.  Madge felt guilty—this woman was nearly a stranger.  But the pity in the brunette’s eyes hinted that she understood Madge’s desperation, and Madge wondered if she and Gale hadn’t been quite as careful as she thought.

She kept her mind on her work as best she could for the next twenty-four hours, mentally scolding herself any time she found herself drifting into imagining worst case scenarios—Gale captured; Gale killed; Gale lying wounded and alone some place far away.  By the time left she was exhausted from holding back her tears.  She hurried out of the bunker and into the park where Gale was waiting for her on a bench.

She collapsed next to him, hiding her face in his coat.  Madge knew they were still too close to the bunker, that someone might see, but she was too tired to care.  Gale held her for a moment and then leaned back, tugging his dog tags out and taking the ring—that ring he’d told her to wear not quite a year ago—off the chain.  He took a deep, shaky breath and began.  “Madge, I…I love you.  And maybe I should have done this earlier, but this might be my last chance.  Will you marry me?”  He slid the ring onto her finger, still talking.  “I know I told you once that I couldn’t bear to look at this ring, but maybe if you wear it, it could be something else.  Instead of reminding me that my father isn’t coming back, maybe it could remind you that I will do everything I can to make it back to you.  I wish I had something better for you, something bigger, but—“ she cut him off with a kiss.

“Of course.  Of course I’ll marry you.  In fact, let’s just go now.  The offices won’t be closing for another hour or so, so maybe we can even get a marriage license yet today.”

To her shock and horror, he shook his head.  “No, Madge.  I can’t.  Not today.  Not now; not like this.”  She didn’t think it was possible for her heart to break any more, but she was wrong.  Gale saw the look on her face and seemed to realise what he’d said.  “No no no!  I want to marry you, I do.  But when I leave, I’m not sure if I will ever make it back, and I can’t leave you a widow.  Being a widow nearly destroyed my mother, and I vowed I wouldn’t let that happen to the woman I love.  I want to marry you, but I can’t right now.  Not until this is over.”

Tears were running freely down her cheeks now, no matter how hard she tried to stay composed.  “Do you honestly think that it will hurt me less if you die and we’re not married?  That I won’t grieve like I was your widow?  Don’t I deserve the right to have your name, to call you my husband, no matter what happens?”  Gale’s eyes were bright with tears as well, but he shook his head.

“Please, Madge,” he whispered, “please don’t ask me to do this.  I can’t.  I need something to look forward to, a reason to come back to you.  Please,” he begged.  She was furious with him, but agreed.  They only had a little time left together and she didn’t want to spend it fighting.  He took her by the hand and guided her down the street, stopping by a street vendor for a few meat pies before leading her to a small hotel in a shabby-but-clean townhome.  He signed them in as Mr. and Mrs. Gale Hawthorne, which nearly undid her.  Their room was small and the shared bathroom was down the hall, but it was theirs until he had to leave.

The moment the door closed behind them she pulled him into a fierce kiss—she didn’t want his last memory of her to be a sad one, so she kissed him hard enough to make him forget he was leaving.  She jumped into his arms, his hands holding her under her arse as she attacked his neck with open mouthed kisses, unbuttoning his uniform and shoving it from his shoulders.  He turned and carried her to the bed, setting her down and removing his undershirt before he leaned down to kiss her again, untucking her blouse as his tongue moved against hers.  He unzipped her skirt next and waited as she shimmied out of it, slipping each button on her blouse through the button hole and watching the blouse slide off her shoulders.

She laid back, her head on the pillows and her body in nothing but a brassiere and drawers as he shed his trousers and covered her with his body, but it was all wrong.  This was getting too sweet, to tender.  If she looked in his eyes once he was inside her, she would lose the little control she currently had over her emotions.  So she wriggled out from under him and rolled off the bed, boldly shedding her remaining clothes as he watched her hungrily.  She knelt on the edge of the bed and drew him close again, sinking her teeth into his lower lip and savoring the moan she caused.  His hand trailed up her leg to her center and he slipped two fingers inside of her.  She arched against him as his fingers moved in her, wringing moan after moan from her throat until she couldn’t take it anymore and he dragged his fingers up to the apex of her thighs, drawing tight circles as she trembled with release.

Madge kissed him again, hard, and then tilted her head toward his boxers.  He stood and pushed them down, grabbing a condom from his wallet.  She knelt on her hands and knees, facing the headboard, and glanced back at him.  She saw his familiar questioning look—a look he sent her whenever he wanted her assurance that this was what she wanted—and nodded once.  So he rolled the condom on and positioned himself at her entrance, his hand gliding up her spine and curving around the top of her shoulder.  Gale thrust inside her with one powerful movement, reaching so deep inside her it was almost—but not quite—painful.  She leaned down onto her elbows, biting a pillow to muffle the inhuman wails emanating from her.  Then she straightened her arms again, relishing the way the movement changed the angle of his cock inside her.  Every time his hips thrust forward she arched herself back, aided by his hand on her shoulder that pulled her roughly against him. There was something primal about the position that satisfied a need deep inside her.  One of his hands dug into her hip and the other tangled in her hair, pulling her head back and sending a shock of arousal through her as he came.  She thought he would pull out then, but instead he wrapped an arm underneath her and pulled her up, resting her back against his chest, his knees still between hers, and touched her again until she clenched around him one last time.

Madge pulled on his army-issued jumper as he threw away the condom, and she grabbed the now-cold meat pies and sat back on the bed, handing him a fork.  Ravenous, they ate without speaking, the fear of tomorrow momentarily forgotten.  But when they finished eating and he reached across the bed to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear, she knew that her earlier resolve would melt.  And melt it did, as an hour later they lay back on the bed together, Gale holding his weight off her with his elbows and moving achingly slowly inside of her.  A few tears escaped her and he kissed them away, his own eyes shiny with unshed tears.  After, he rolled to his side and she curled up next to him, her arm around his waist and her chest pressed against his back, holding him as tightly as she could as the night marched inexorably on, the thought of him leaving keeping them both paralyzed with fear.

The next morning Gale buttoned up his uniform while Madge sat on the bed, her knees pulled into his olive green jumper.  His movements were slow and he fumbled a bit with his tie, so she crawled onto her knees and finished tying it for him.  The pain of him leaving was threatening to split her in two, and a few unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks.  Gale took her face in his hands and brushed the tears away with his thumbs, pinning his forehead against hers.  “I’m so sorry, Madge,” he breathed, “I would give anything to stay.”  She swallowed, not wanting to ruin the moment with more tears but not trusting herself to speak.  She started to pull off his jumper but he stopped her.  “Keep it.  Please.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

He shrugged.  “Probably, but it will be worth it.  Besides, they have plenty of those.  I can get another one.”

Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, they headed out into the dreary December weather and caught a bus up to King’s Cross.  Gale would be taking a train to the coast, where he’d board a ship to take him to North Africa.  They clung to one another—Gale was holding Madge’s hand so tightly she thought it might break—until it was time for him to leave.  Several desperate kisses later and he was on the train and then he was gone.  Madge sat on a bench and cried for nearly an hour.  She knew she was making a spectacle of herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Finally, she pulled herself together and headed back to the bunker—the brunette had agreed to cover for her until lunchtime, and Madge was cutting it close.  She knew concentrating would be nearly impossible today, but being alone with her thoughts seemed worse.  Back in the bunker, however, she noticed that things had changed slightly.  The other girls smiled sadly at her, and offered her cups of tea, and Venia snapped at a man who asked Madge if she could “use some cheering up.”  Madge was ashamed of herself—these women were taking care of her, and standing up for her, and she had barely even had a conversation with them before.  It didn’t diminish the pain of Gale leaving, but it helped.  A little.

 

_January, 1942._

It took three weeks before she got her first letter from Gale.  He was safe, but he couldn’t say where he was or what he was doing.  After nearly a year of working in the same office, not knowing his every move was physically painful.  His letters were a poor substitute for his presence, but his dark, spiky handwriting and blunt observations reminded her of his sharp way of speaking and keen observations.

For the next two years, anxiety was her constant companion.  She worried until she got his newest letter, and as soon as she read it she started worrying again.  Gale wrote when he could, and during his infrequent leaves he made it back to London where they would check into a hotel as husband and wife.  Those few stolen days were the sole bright spot in a bleak few years, when they would joyfully reunite and spend every possible moment they could making the other fall apart.  Madge learned the thrill of kneeling in front of him and taking him in her mouth, a pleasure he soon surpassed by pushing her flat on her back, spreading her legs and burying his face there, bringing her to completion over and over again nothing but his tongue.  Madge was still angry that he wouldn’t agree to marry her, but that discussion led no where.  She threw herself into her work, hoping that somehow the war would end and he would come home to her, healthy and whole.  Delly tried to keep her spirits up, but even the indefatigable Delly seemed withdrawn and worn out as the war dragged on, taking longer and longer walks from Mrs. Trinkett’s on their days off.  It seemed like the war would never end, that the rest of their lives would be in an endless, futile struggle for victory that never came.

 _February, 1944_.

It had been an uneventful day, full of communiqués and reports, a day just like any other until a colonel walked into the bullpen.  “Miss Undersee?  Letter addressed to you, care of the War Office.  Looks important.”  Her heart turned to ice and her hands trembled as she took the letter.  It was from General Abernathy.

_Miss Undersee,_

_I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but as the official notification will be going to his mother and I don’t know if she can reach you, I thought you had a right to know as soon as possible.  I know you two thought you were being discreet, but anyone could tell how much you loved each other.  Two nights ago, Captain Hawthorne was on a reconnaissance mission over southern France and his plane was shot down.  We have had no contact with anyone from the plane, although there is no reason to think there weren’t some survivors.  At the moment, Captain Gale Hawthorne has been classified as Missing In Action._

There was more, something about remaining hopeful, that the situation could change, but Madge couldn’t read any farther.  She couldn’t comprehend it.

 _Gale was missing in action_.

 

Madge sprinted from the bullpen and out in the hall, desperate for a place that was quiet and didn’t remind her of  _him_.  It was useless, though—nearly every corner held some sort of memory, and after a few panicked moments she sank to her knees in a dark corner, General Abernathy’s letter clutched to her chest.  Sobs shook her body; horrible, wracking sobs that came from some place deep inside her.  Delly knelt next to her, gently prying the letter from her hands, a soft “oh no!” escaping her lips as she read it.  She wrapped her arms around Madge, pulling her to rest on her chest and stroking her hair.  This just made Madge cry harder, remembering Gale’s hands smoothing her hair their first night together in the shelter.

The brunette who had taken Madge’s shift the day Gale left—Bristel, Madge reminded herself– approached them, letting Delly know that the girls had agreed to cover both their shifts for the rest of the day so Delly could get Madge home.  Delly helped Madge up and guided her outside, but Madge couldn’t see or hear anything.  Gale was missing, and that was the only thing in the world that mattered.  Or maybe nothing mattered anymore.  She couldn’t decide.

Back at Mrs. Trinkett’s, Delly settled her into bed and filled Mrs. Trinkett in on the details.  Effie jumped into action, bringing Madge cup of tea after endless cup of tea, offering magazines and newspapers and  trying to cheer her up by saying “Missing isn’t dead!” which was horrid and hardly the point at all.  Madge must have slept after awhile, because she awoke to Mrs. Trinkett in her room again, gently telling her that Bristel had stopped by to let them know Madge had been given one week’s bereavement leave.

Bereavement.  Such an inadequate word for the giant, gaping hole inside of her, the hole she knew now would never disappear.  She was sad, but she was angry with Gale too—angry that he left, angry that he hadn’t married her when they had the chance, angry that he was gone when he’d  _promised_  to come back.

Madge stayed in bed for days, clutching Gale’s jumper to her chest and refusing to talk to anyone until Delly came home from work and crawled into bed with her.  She wrapped her arms around Madge and stayed silent, an unimaginable sacrifice on Delly’s part.  After awhile, Madge spoke.  “I never should have talked to him, Delly.  I wish I’d never met him.  I wish I could be like you, not having to deal with a sweetheart or a broken heart.”  The moment the words left her lips Madge regretted them, and Delly stiffened.

“Madge…that’s not exactly true,” Delly began hesitantly.  Madge sat up straight.   _Delly has a sweetheart?  Who?   When?_ “It’s complicated, and oh Madge, promise you won’t hate me when I tell you.  Promise me.”  Madge promised, slightly uneasy with this solemn, fearful Delly.  “You- you know Flora, the munitions worker?  She- we- I love her, Madge.”  Madge sat still, uncomprehending.  “I love her like you love Gale, and please, please don’t hate me,” Delly pleaded tearfully.  Delly was  _crying._   Delly Cartwright was  _crying_  and in love with… a woman?  Madge fought the impulse to recoil, remembering her promise to Delly but still uncomfortable.

“How?” she managed to get out.

Delly sniffled.  “Remember the dance hall we went to with Gale?  When he got in a fight and you left early?  Flora and I were talking and then we went out for a bit of air and sh-she k-kissed me, and…I can’t explain it Madge, but it was  _right._   I know it’s wrong, but for me, it’s  _right_.  When you would spend the day with Gale, I was sneaking off to see her.  Madge, please, say something,  _anything_.”

But Madge couldn’t think of anything to say.  She didn’t know  _what_  to say, but the sight of Delly, her best friend, the one person she had left in this entire world, crying like her heart might break, moved her to put her arms around Delly and hold her tight.  “I’m here, Dell.  I love you, I’m here,” she murmured, making Delly sob harder.  Soon Madge was crying too—for Gale, for Delly, for herself, even for Flora.  It seemed impossible that they would make it through the war in one piece.


	6. Chapter 6

_February, 1944_

Her week leave finished, Madge returned to work.  The other girls greeted her with hugs, something she normally wouldn’t want but now seemed necessary.  She appreciated their support, and the camaraderie she’d built with them over the past few years slowly returned.  She was still unsure of how to feel about Delly’s revelation, but decided that in the end, Delly had been there for her so she needed to be there for Delly.  Work was a welcome distraction from the daily agony she felt, even though the bunker was haunted with memories of Gale.

 

Two weeks after her return to work, she was engrossed in a new set of despatches when Delly appeared at her elbow.  She seemed agitated, shuffling from foot to foot and playing with the ends of her hair.  “Madge, I think…I think I found something.  Can you spare a moment?  But not here.  Someplace private.”

Reluctantly, Madge led Delly through the maze of hallways to the old file room—which was now home to dozens of filing cabinets, but still largely deserted.  Safely inside, Delly pulled a folded communiqué out of her jumper’s pocket.   “We’ve been getting these for a few weeks now, from a new agent working in the Resistance. I was working on a summary, but it didn’t make much sense, so I asked for the original copy—well, not the original, but the decoded one that Encryption made.”  She laid it flat on top of a filing cabinet, smoothing out the creases.  “Anyway, like I said, the bit Encryption gave me didn’t make sense, so I thought they’d missed something, maybe picked out the wrong words or the wrong sentence.  You know the secondary code, right?”  Madge knew the basics of the code, of course.  Not as well as Delly, but she knew that each message was sent with two layers of code—the first layer was a code created by Encryption and changed frequently, the second was a simpler code.  The first sentence of each message was nonsense, then two sentences of information, then three sentences of nonsense followed by four of information, and so on.  Rudimentary, but effective.  Delly continued, “So I was looking at this message, and this new agent is writing his letters like he’s writing to his sweetheart, you see?”  Madge nodded again, as it wasn’t uncommon for the agents to write their letters as if they were for mothers or sweethearts.  The Germans knew that it wasn’t for a sweetheart, but the more layers of deception for their code-breakers to work through, the better.  “And Madge, I think…I think these messages are for you.  I think it’s Gale.  I think he’s alive.”

Madge snatched the letter out of Delly’s hand, desperately scanning it for a sign of Gale.  It was type written—not even Delly could charm the original copy out of Encryption, she supposed—so there was no hint of his handwriting.  But skimming the lines of filler, the lines that encryption would normally discard before sending the message on, she found that it read,

_Princess,_

_I’m so sorry to have left like that.  I wish it were different, but it can’t be.  I’m safe, just like we were that night in the shelter.  I love you._

That was it.  Four sentences.  Four beautiful, wonderful sentences.  Gale was alive, she was sure of it.  He was far from safe, she knew, no matter what he said— if he truly was a member of the French Resistance, he was now behind enemy lines and could be executed on the spot if he were caught.  But for now, knowing he was alive was enough.  Her heart ached for his mother, still stuck in limbo, not knowing that Gale was alive but she didn’t see how she could get a message back to her safely.  Madge threw her arms around Delly’s neck, squeezing her as tightly as possible.  She was laughing and crying at the same time, completely overwhelmed by one thought:

_Gale is alive._

***

_Summer, 1944._

By late spring, Madge knew the Americans were planning something, and it was  _big._   She didn’t know the details, but the flurry of activity and reports crossing her desk suggested that the long-awaited invasion of France was about to begin.  She was wracked with nerves, worried about Gale.  His reports came regularly enough, and Delly made sure to get a copy whenever she could.  His messages were almost always the same: “ _I’m safe.  I love you,”_  but it was enough for Madge.  But if the Americans launched an invasion and something went wrong, the Germans would be on heightened alert and Gale could be caught.  His French was good enough to fool a German who couldn’t recognize a proper French accent (which Gale decidedly lacked) but one wrong word in front of the wrong person and it was all over.

In June the Americans launched their invasion, and by mid-August they were just outside of Paris.  Madge was overjoyed, certain that it would be over soon, confident as Gale’s messages continued to arrive.  But then the messages stopped just as the Americans arrived in Paris.  Madge spent two weeks in a state of constant panic, dreading the moment at the end of the day when Delly would look over and shake her head, indicating that she hadn’t seen anything that could be from him.

The rest of the office was celebrating the liberation of Paris, but Madge didn’t feel like joining in.  Two weeks of silence from Gale had driven her to distraction.  She tried to remind herself that Abernathy would likely contact her if the worst had happened, but she had no guarantee he would. Everyone was sharing whisky and singing  _God Save the King_  while Madge stayed at her desk, trying in vain to focus on the communiqué in front of her.  She pushed back from her desk, telling Delly she was going to go up and outside for some air.

It was a rare warm day in London, and the news about Paris had clearly spread.  People were cheering and hugging in the streets, but Madge felt hollow.  Empty.  She’d already lost him once, and she might have lost him again.  The thought was almost too painful to bear.  She strode blindly ahead, lost in thought, deaf to the merriment around her.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her elbow.  She whirled around, ready to snap, and had just enough time to register a pair of grey eyes before he kissed her, hard and desperate.  She  _knew_  this kiss, but she didn’t believe it.  It couldn’t be. 

Madge pulled back just enough to confirm that she hadn’t gone completely mad.  It was Gale.  Smiling, healthy Gale, completely whole.  Well, not completely—one arm was in a sling, but he was holding her with his good arm and pulling her close and kissing her again, so it didn’t matter.

They kissed like that, in broad daylight on a street corner, for Madge didn’t know how long.  She didn’t care, either.  He was  _home_.  But eventually she felt him wince when her hand brushed his shoulder, so she took a step back.  That one step took all her willpower, but she needed to look at him, take him in, reassure herself that he was okay.

 

He was.  A little thinner, maybe, and with the aforementioned sling and a few scratches on his face, but it was Gale.  His eyes were bright and he kept his hand on her cheek, his thumb skimming over her cheekbone.  His thumb trailed down, brushing along the bow of her lips, parting them slightly, and then captured her lips for another kiss.  His fingers slid into her hair as her hands cupped his jaw, feeling the slight scruff that meant he hadn’t shaved yet that day.  Her heart was pounding out of her chest—not only was Gale alive, he was  _here_.

Finally, Madge wrenched herself back, desperate for some answers.  Gale’s smile was blinding and he leaned in for another kiss, but she stopped him.  “Gale, how…how?”  She couldn’t get more words out than that, still stunned by his sudden presence.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I was just outside of Paris when the rest of the Americans arrived—I was shot, but it’s a clean through and through.  I’ll recover.  They sent me to a battlefield hospital and then shipped me back here, but it all moved so fast that I couldn’t get a message to you.  You got them, though, didn’t you?  My messages?  I couldn’t tell you before I left, and I didn’t know if you’d get them, but I had to try.”  He buried his face in her hair.  “I hated it,” he murmured, “I hated every second I was apart from you, and I hated that I couldn’t tell you, and I hated that you didn’t know where I was or if I was all right, and I hated that I didn’t marry you when I had a chance. Madge, I’m so sorry.”

“I got them,” she breathed, “I didn’t get them for a few weeks after you went missing, but I got them and I knew it was you.”  She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes again.  “But I swear, Captain Gale Hawthorne, if you ever leave me again I will hunt you down.”

***

The war dragged on for another nine months, but at least now Gale was back in London.  He’d been assigned a desk job at the American base, which meant he was living in the barracks there.  This was probably the worst part of his new job, since sneaking Madge into his quarters there proved to be nearly impossible.  They had to content themselves with stolen moments behind dance halls.  Their relationship was no longer a secret, although Madge was suspecting it never really had been very secret at all.  When Germany surrendered in May they celebrated with the rest of London but Gale was still worried about Rory stationed in the South Pacific.  But August brought news that the war was officially, totally, completely over and it was as though a weight had been lifted off both their shoulders.  Gale was to be demobilized in October and Madge would follow on a civilian transport a week later.  The wedding would be as soon as she arrived in Philadelphia, as Hazelle had requested that they marry where she could attend and neither Madge nor Gale wanted to wait a moment longer than absolutely necessary anymore.

 

_October, 1945_

And that was how Madge found herself walking down a gang plank on a busy Philadelphia dock, desperately searching for a familiar head of dark hair.  She spotted him off to the side, waving happily.  She ran the rest of the way, jumping into his arms, laughing as he spun her around.  He had come to meet her on his own, correctly surmising that meeting his entire family the moment she arrived in a new country would be a little overwhelming.  It also meant they could have a private—so to speak—reunion.  It wasn’t exactly the reunion she wanted (that would have involved tearing his clothes off right then and there) but for now, the knowledge that he was safe and they were together would have to be enough.

The Hawthorne apartment was crowded and noisy.  Rory had been demobilized a month earlier and relocated back to their West Virginia hometown, and he’d brought his wife to Philadelphia for the wedding.  He was jovial and welcoming, although occasionally Madge caught him staring off into space with a haunted look.  His wife, a sweet blonde woman named Prim, would gently lay a hand on his arm and coax him back into the conversation whenever that happened.  Prim, it turned out, was actually Katniss’ little sister, and she cheerily informed Gale that Katniss would be coming to the wedding tomorrow and bringing  _her_  fiancé.  Madge would be lying if she said that knowledge didn’t send a tiny pang of worry through her gut, but Gale curved an arm around her back and pulled her close, silently reassuring her with his presence.  Vick had returned on leave, having decided to re-enlist in his position as a translator.  Madge longed to share her experiences from the War Office, but she was still bound by the Official Secrets Act and thus she had to content herself with only asking him questions.  Posy hovered around Madge’s elbow the entire evening, peppering her with questions about England, and tea, and the royal family.  She seemed slightly disappointed to discover that Madge had never met Princess Elizabeth, but covered admirably.

The next morning Hazelle, Prim, and Posy took Madge to buy a wedding dress. Years of rationing made Madge slightly uncomfortable at the idea of buying an entirely new dress for just one day—one afternoon, really—so she settled on an ivory knee-length dress and matching jacket that she could conceivably wear again.  They hurried to the courthouse then, and Hazelle and Posy helped Madge into her new outfit and pinned the tiny veil to her hat in the ladies room.

Her heart clenched painfully as she walked into the room full of Gale’s family and friends—including Katniss and her fiancé, a blond man leaning on crutches—and none of hers.  Madge would have given anything for Delly to be there, but once the War Office no longer needed their services, Delly had moved to Brighton with Flora.  Madge worried about their safety, but Delly had assured her that they would simply appear to be roommates to everyone else.  The lack of her best friend hurt, and the lack of her parents hurt more.  But then she was standing next to Gale, his hand on her elbow, and her heart eased slightly.  He was her family now, and when the judge finished and Gale lifted her veil to kiss her, she felt a surge of happiness.

The wedding dinner was a boisterous affair in a fancy downtown hotel, and Madge found herself warming to the quiet, reserved Katniss.  Of course, Katniss’ cheerful, outgoing fiancé helped matters, but Madge was sure she would eventually like Katniss on her own merits.  Gale’s brothers teased them while Hazelle tried in vain to keep them in check, but Madge enjoyed it all.

Dinner concluded, the rest of the Hawthorne’s took their leave as Madge and Gale went upstairs to their room.  It was their first moment alone since the docks, and the first moment fully alone in months.  The door closed with a soft click, and Madge was suddenly seized by a bout of nerves.  The room was silent and her heels sunk into the thick carpet—it was far fancier than any place she’d been in the past six years.  It recalled some of the glitz and glamour of her life before the war—elaborately carved furniture, filigreed mirrors, and the like—but she hadn’t had anyone or anything in her life quite like Gale Hawthorne then.

He turned to her, smiling down at her softly.  “Well, Mrs. Hawthorne, looks like we’re alone at last.”

She couldn’t help but grin at that.  “It would appear so,  _Captain_  Hawthorne.  Whatever shall we do with the time?”

His lips were on hers before the last words were finished, drinking her in.  It was the kiss of a drowning man, of a starving one, and a kiss that she eagerly returned.  He swept her in his arms and carried her to the bed, dropping her there unceremoniously and making her laugh as she bounced.  Gale shed his jacket and she pulled off hers, but then he was on top of her, kissing her again and slowly sliding his hands up her thighs.  But Madge was too impatient to wait, too eager to let him take his time in undressing her.  So she roughly shoved him off of her and stood next to the bed, stripping herself completely.  Gale watched in awe as she climbed back on top of him, quickly undoing his buttons and grappling with his belt.  Soon he was bare as well and Madge bent down to take him in her mouth.  Gale’s moan when she licked him from base to tip was nearly her undoing.  She wrapped her hand around his cock, beginning to set a rhythm with her hand and mouth, when Gale tugged her up to kiss him.  “Later,” he whispered, and she luxuriated in that word—later promised more time, endless time, that they weren’t confined to file rooms or short weekends in hotels any longer.  He pinned her back to the mattress and pushed her thighs out to the side, settling on his stomach between them.  At the first touch of his tongue to her center she let out a loud wail—after all, now that they weren’t in the file room or his quarters she had no reason to be quiet—and the feel of him lapping at her center soon had her legs trembling and her back arching off the bed in ecstasy.  Gale crawled up her body, planting kisses as he went.  “I missed the way you taste,” he murmured as he slowly entered her, his hips rocking into her in a way that made her cry out again and sink her teeth into the soft flesh of his shoulder.  Soon, his hips sped up, his thrusts uneven, and when he came inside of her she reveled in the feeling.

Light streamed through the windows the next morning, setting the gilded accents glowing.  Madge woke, her head resting on the soft space between his shoulder and chest, their legs intertwined.  She thought about waking him, but he looked so peaceful, illuminated by the morning light, that she simply rested her head back on his shoulder.  They had time enough for that later.


	7. outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on requests from flying-carpet and nursekelly0429 for more in the Blitzkrieg universe. Set between when Gale returns to London and when they get married.

Madge knew she should be grateful.  She’d endured the unendurable, first with Gale deployed and then with Gale missing in action.  This was but a blip on the radar screen—an anomaly, just noise in the void. 

It still didn’t change the fact that if she didn’t get good and properly fucked soon, she was going to  _die_.

Gale was back, stationed at the American base, but that proved to be far less convenient than when he worked in the bunker with her.  Rules about visitors were strict on the base, and Effie had gotten oddly vigilant since Gale returned home.  That left them with stolen moments in semi-public places, like the alleyway behind the dancehall that was the site of their first kiss.

To be fair, Madge hadn’t completely lied to Mrs. Trinkett.  They  _did_  go dancing—four songs, as a matter of fact.  Four songs of swaying close together, breathing each other in, before Madge lost control of her last shreds of patience and dragged him out the side door.  Their lips were on each others before the door had even swung closed.  Fortunately, the alley was deserted, not that either would have noticed if Josef Stalin himself was there.  Gale pinned her to the wall and she felt the bite of crumbling masonry in her back as they scrabbled at each other’s clothes.

Gale had success first, dragging her dress scandalously high up her hips and nudging her drawers aside.  He sealed his mouth over hers as he pushed two long, tapered fingers inside and muffled her throaty moan, and then skimmed his lips down her neck as he pushed in and out.  “Shhh,” he whispered in her ear, his breath catching as Madge finally undid his trousers and snaked her hand inside.

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted (that would have involved a hotel room and several uninterrupted days) but it would have to suffice.  Gale’s fingers reached deeper and deeper inside of her as she twisted and stroked him from base to tip.  He pressed his forehead against hers and their breath mingled as Madge finally caught the peak she’d been chasing and stiffened, her attention to his cock diverted as she came, hard.  When she regained her senses she picked up where she left off and he groaned in her ear as his climax hit.

It wasn’t quite what she wanted, but it was enough.


	8. outtake II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on nursekelly0429's request for some smutty Blitzkrieg.

One week of leave was never, ever enough. Not for Madge. Even though it required several layers of secrecy (telling Mrs. Trinkett she was staying at the bunker for the entire week, arranging to have her evenings off for six nights in a row, and checking into a hotel near Paddington where no one would recognize them as Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne) Madge would have gladly juggled the lies indefinitely if it meant he didn’t have to go back.

But moments like this seemed to exist out of time, her knees pressed to the warped wooden floor with Gale looming over her, the weight of him heavy on her tongue. She loved his salty taste and she loved the way he wove his fingers into her hair as she took him deeper in her mouth. She loved the soft noises she was dragging from his throat, and she loved how powerful she felt on her knees.

Like this, she didn’t have to think about Gale leaving in a few days, and she didn’t have to think about the endless danger he was facing or the risks she took by doing her job. She didn’t have to think about the fact that they weren’t married yet, or the possibility that they might never get the chance. Like this, all that concerned her was sucking harder and harder until he spilled down her throat with a groan.

She wanted a lifetime, but for now, this would be enough.


End file.
